


My Greatest Weakness

by Wizard_of_Ozzie



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, basically canon TV and comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-17 00:23:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14176566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie
Summary: After Oswald saves him at the pier, Ed convalesces at the mansion with Oswald and Martin. The tale begins during 4x16, but the storyline diverges from the TV script, as we learn why Jerome needed Oswald.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

Oswald was dreaming. He was back in Arkham Asylum, strapped down to a gurney.  Left that way by Jerome and his cronies.  Confined in a tiny, windowless room, which was rapidly filling with boiling water. Although the water was still too low to reach him, the steam rolling off its bubbling waves had already engulfed him in its hot, saturating embrace. He felt his exposed skin began to blister. There was the sound of someone knocking on the door. Then there was shouting. "OSWALD! OSWALD!" He recognized the voice. It was Ed. 

"No Ed! Don't open the door!" He screamed, terrified by the thought of Ed being consumed in the roiling, flesh-searing torrent.   But the knocking continued, growing louder, more incessant. Gradually, the timbre of the sound began to evolve, becoming clearer, more real, piercing the fabric of his dream. Oswald opened his eyes.  The knocking didn't stop.

"Oswald! Are you okay in there?" Ed called, from outside his bedroom door.  Oswald hurriedly got out of his chair, where he had only intended to sit for a minute and rest his leg, but exhaustion overtook him. 

"Yes, I'm fine." Oswald said, opening the bedroom door and letting Ed in.

"I heard you screaming." 

"It was nothing." Oswald said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just a bad dream." Ed nodded in response, despite the concern and uncertainty written across his face.

 "Well, you want to see this." Ed said, grabbing the TV remote and cutting it on.  The evening news re-broadcast appeared on the screen. Valerie Vale was standing outside of Arkham Asylum, dozens of police and patrol cars in the background. Tendrils of hair blowing across her face, as she spoke into the microphone.

_"We are asking the citizens of Gotham to be on alert. Jerome Velaska, Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, and all of the other violent ward inmates escaped from Arkham Asylum. They are armed and dangerous. Five guards were murdered and at least a dozen injured during their escape. GCPD is in the process of conducting a citywide manhunt, but Valeska, Crane, and Tetch are currently still at large."_

"Hmph, so he finally did it." Oswald said with a wry smile.

"You knew you he was going to escape?" 

"Yes, he wanted me to break out with him. Said he needed me. I was going to be his creme de la crazy, whatever the hell that is." Oswald said with a toss of his head and a roll of his eyes.

"So, I wasn't your only way out?" Ed said, a look of mild surprise painting his face. Oswald just smiled coyly.  Both men turned at the sound of a knock on the open door.  Martin was standing at the doorway in his pajamas. He looked at both men with uncertainty, worried that he might be interrupting something important. 

"Martin, my brave boy!" Oswald said, opening his arms, which Martin immediately ran into, giving his Uncle Penguin a big hug. "Your Uncle Ed told me how you helped him rescue you. I'm proud of you." Martin looked up at him beaming, his shining bright eyes filled with adoration. Ed stood there looking a tad left out, but then Martin ran over to him, grabbing him around the waist and giving him a big hug, too.  Ed returned the hug, smiling broadly, as he looked at Oswald, who'd gotten a bit misty eyed. 

 **_BOOM--BOOM-CRAAAACK--BLAMM_ **  

Shocked expressions were on all three of their faces, as they heard the violent, thundering sound of the downstairs door being battering rammed, the door jamb’s wood splitting, and the door slamming to the floor.  Oswald reacted quickly, pulling Martin to his side.

"Go to the panic room!" Oswald told him.  Martin, wide-eyed and worried, hesitated, reluctant to leave. Oswald swept him into his arms.  "Don't worry. We'll be alright. I need to know you're safe, now go."  He added, releasing the boy.   

"Hurry Martin!"  Ed pleaded, holding open the trapdoor leading to the panic room.  He gave the boy's hand a squeeze, as the boy climbed down the ladder to the room.  Once he had cleared the entrance, Ed shut the trapdoor, which disappeared beneath the oriental throw rug tacked to its lid.  Ed turned to see Oswald pulling a large rectangular metal box from under his bed.  Oswald quickly opened the box filled with guns and ammunition.  He snatched out an M-16 and popped in a magazine.  Ed followed suit, stuffing extra ammo in his pockets.  Ed went to the TV, pressing buttons until the surveillance feed came online, simultaneously displaying eight separate images of areas inside and outside the mansion.

"Speak of the devil!" Ed hissed in amazement, as he saw Jerome Valeska waving at the hallway camera, his obscenely wide grin firmly in place. 

"What the hell!" Oswald growled, staring at the screen. There was no activity being displayed from the other rooms, but he could see the dead bodies of his security contingent splayed randomly around the mansion’s exterior.  Jerome's face was so large in the hallway camera's feed that it blocked out the rest of the view in that area. "His face is right next to the lens. Must be standing on a chair or something." Oswald mumbled in disbelief, as that portion of the screen suddenly went black.  “Let’s take the back stairway.” Oswald said, giving Ed’s arm a quick swipe and moving toward the door.

“Wait, there's something I need to get."  Ed said, running into the adjoining bathroom. Oswald watched in frustration and exasperation, that quickly shifted to confusion, when Ed came out carrying a bag of cotton balls.

"Really? At a time like this, you need cotton balls?" Edward ignored him, tearing open the bag, pulling out some balls and handing them to Oswald.  

"Hurry, put them in your ears."  Ed instructed, pulling out more balls and stuffing them in his ears. He noticed Oswald was just standing there staring at his cotton balls. "Tetch escaped with Valeska and may be with him now. Hopefully, if we can't hear him speak; he won't be able to hypnotize us." Oswald nodded, stuffing cotton in his ears, as he ran into the bathroom. Ed followed quickly behind.

"What you doing?" Ed asked, as he watched Oswald running water over two face towels. 

"Crane escaped with them, too." Oswald explained, wringing out the facecloths. "Water neutralizes his fear toxin. I found that out the hard way." He added, handing Ed a wet face rag.  Oswald shuddered, as the fear toxin-induced vision of Ed’s monstrous shark toothed grin flashed in his mind’s eye. He squeezed his eyes shut and quickly shook his head, pushing the nightmarish image from his mind. He turned to Ed, forcing a brave smile to his lips.  "Now let's get the hell out of here."  Oswald threw the other washcloth on his shoulder and bolted for the door.  Both men dashed from the bathroom, rifles in hand, headed for the back stairs.

"You know I can still hear with this cotton in my ears." Oswald said harshly, as they started down the back stairs. 

"Being completely deaf would be equally dangerous. If you see or hear Tetch starting to talk, start humming as loud as you can. He can't order us to do anything, if we don't understand what he's saying."

"Okay, the plan is get downstairs, run out the back door, sneak around to the front, and if they don't have too many reinforcements take them all down.  Hopefully, we'll have the element of surprise on our side."  Oswald said, hurrying to keep up with Ed, as they went downstairs.  “Oof!” Oswald grunted, bumping into Ed, who had abruptly stopped moving.  Oswald opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Ed signaled quiet, his index finger to his lips. Both men stood still as stone, barely breathing; straining to hear voices, a creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door hinge—anything that might give them a bead on the location of the intruders.  Both men gasped in unison, as a strong clear voice rang out somewhere below them. 

“I know that you are asking, ‘what road should I take’. But it doesn’t matter what you want, you’ll go the way I make.”  Tetch trilled, his sing-song voice bubbling with glee, as he loosely quoted Alice in Wonderland.

“The fire has gone out. Wet from snow above.”  Ed sang, his smooth melodious voice, thunderous in the cramped confines of the narrow stairwell.  Instantly understanding, Oswald joined in, their harmony resounding off the walls. “But nothing will warm me more. Than my, my mother’s love. I light another candle. To dry the tears from my face ...”  They sang at the top of voices, running down the few remaining stairs.  Ed opened fire the moment he emerged from the stairwell, sending a wide arc of machine gunfire across the kitchen. Tetch let out a pained yelp, as he dived into a pantry.  Oswald took position at Ed’s back, surveying the rear of the house through the windows. Seeing nothing, he did an about face, standing at Ed’s side, their eyes trained on the pantry’s doorway.   

“Oswald, buddy, old pal.” Jerome crooned, strolling into the kitchen, the gun in his hand pointed at Oswald. “Is that any way to greet your guests?  He chided, the sinister undertone of his words unmistakable. Tetch emerged from the pantry, his Glock trained on Ed.  A smug smile spread across Ed’s face, as he noted Tetch’s limp and the blood-soaked rag tied around his calf.

“My guests usually knock at the door, not tear it from its hinges.”  Oswald snarled, spittle flying like venom from his lips. He heard Ed’s sharp intake of breath, just as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  A thick spray of fear toxin engulfed both men from behind, wrapping them in its cloud-like cocoon.


	2. It's a Gas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penguin is under siege in his own home. He has the Riddler at his side, but Valeska, Crane, and Tetch are a scary bunch.

Chapter 2

 

Jonathan Crane walked across the room to join Jerome and Tetch, casually stepping around the two men convulsing in terror on the floor. Jerome gave his crony a huge smile and a pat on the back.

"Great job, Crane, old man." Jerome said with a clap of his hands. "Now all we need to do is get them tied up and in the truck."

"Too bad we killed all the guards, they would've came in useful for this grunt work." Tetch remarked.  He was paler than usual, his face shiny with perspiration, as he turned to Crane. "It is safe to touch them or do we need to wait?"

 "As long as the toxin doesn't touch your face, you'll be fine." Crane answered.

 "Yes, some hypnotized goons would've come in handy about now. Too bad the wind was so high tonight. By the time either of you got close enough to work your magic, your bodies would have been riddled with bullets." Jerome commented, pursing his lips with distaste as he looked at Penguin and Riddler whimpering on the floor. Seeing his comrades’ obvious reluctance to approach the men on the floor, Crane spoke up.

"I'll tie Penguin up.  You can just shoot the other one, right?" Crane asked. 

"No, we should take both." Jerome decided.  "There was something Penguin said, back at the asylum, that makes me think this Riddler guy will be more useful to us alive, than dead."

"What about the kid?" Tetch asked.

"I don't think we need him anymore." Jerome said looking across the room at Penguin and Riddler. He turned to Tetch,  "Now be a dear and go out to the truck to get some rope and handcuffs." Tetch nodded and left the room, glad to be away from the lingering scent of fear toxin hanging in the kitchen's air.

 

Ed and Oswald are only inches away from each other, huddling side-by-side on the floor, but the fear toxin’s insidious wrath sends each man spiraling downward into their own private hell, worlds apart.  

Ed trembles, as he relives his own most terrifying memories. His bedroom is dark, the only illumination a sliver of light seeping through a slit in the barely cracked door. There's the sound of footsteps, coming ever closer. The footsteps stop and the ribbon of light pouring through his door expands with a BLAMM, as the door is violently shoved open and slams against the wall. Ed's hunched on his bed, his eight-year-old body forming a ball, knees tucked to his chin, arms wrapped around his shins, trying to make himself as small as possible.  The source of his terror, the hulking silhouette standing in the doorway of his room.  He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, block out what he sees, block out what he knows is coming next. But he stares almost mesmerized, as the figure at his door takes a long draw from the cigar in his mouth.   The cigar's red tip growing brighter as he inhales. The scarlet glow giving definition to silhouette's cruel, hard face and the sadistic grin writ large across it.  The monster exhales, a large plume of smoke erupting from his lips and hanging in the air between them. Ed shivers uncontrollably, as his father slowly moves through the smoky haze, toward him. He gasps, as he feels a warm wetness spreading across his crouch and seeping into the mattress beneath him…

 

Oswald is hunched over on his knees, his back to his assailants. Images of Ed and Martin, their faces contorted in pain and covered with blood, swirling through his mind. Their voices, hissing whispers in his ear, asking. _Why? Why did you let this happen?  Why did you keep us so close? You know that everyone you hold dear, everyone you love— **dies**!_   Tears spring to Oswald’s eyes, blurring his vision, wet on his cheeks. He feels a drop of coolness, as a tear lands on his hand and rolls down his thumb. The physical sensation makes him notice that this is different than the first time he encountered the fear toxin. He can see his hand, feel the pain in his knees on the hard stone-tiled floor.  Although, he quakes with terror for the two people he loves most on earth, his conscious mind knows it’s only an illusion, a drug-induced hallucination. _Focus, focus._ He frantically tells himself, as he tries to concentrate on the room around him. He stares at the tile on the kitchen floor beneath him, homing in on the pattern etched into the stone, the subtle gradient in its coloring, the straight lines where the tiles meet. Slowly those images become more real, more lifelike than the terrifying phantoms ebbing at the corners of his mind. Distinguishing fact from phantasm isn’t so difficult anymore and the room grows clearer, more cohesive around him.

 _The first dose I got at my club must have built up my tolerance to the toxin and my ability to resist it._ He realizes. His joy at this discovery was cut short, as he hears Ed wail in terror, beside him. He fights the urge to go to him, cradle him in his arms, and comfort him.  _Hang in there, Ed._ He silently pleads. _I’m going to get us out of this, but I’ll need to be smart. I’m still outnumbered._   Oswald keeps whimpering and flailing about on his knees, slowly inching closer to his discarded rifle, while ease dropping on his assailants’ conversation.  A brief smile passes over his lips, as he hears Tetch’s footsteps fade into the distance.  _My odds are improving._   He inwardly cheers, as his hand, hidden from view by his crouched body, clasps the M-16.  He pivots, still on his knees and sends a hail of bullets at Jerome and Crane.  His aim is off due to his awkward position, but it’s enough because he hits Crane.  The man’s propelled sideways by the impact, colliding into Jerome, just as he’s returning fire.  Jerome’s shot goes wide, the bullet whizzing over Oswald’s head, as he slams in a new magazine.  Jerome, realizing his handgun is no match for an M16, darts from the room.  Oswald dashes to Ed, pulling the damp wash cloth from his pocket.  He franticly wipes the taller man’s face, knowing Jerome and Tetch will be returning any second.  His effort is rewarded, as Ed gives him a bleary-eyed look and grabs at his lapel.

“Oswald.” He croaks, his face pale and lips trembling.  Oswald quickly hoists him to feet. Ed staggers, but stays upright, thanks to the smaller man’s firm grasp on his arm.

“Panic Room. Hurry!”  Oswald urges, pulling Ed toward the concealed entrance in the pantry.  Ed stops at Crane’s motionless body, sprawled across the floor.  He bends over, ripping the gas canister and nozzle from his body.  Oswald watches, sweat running down his brow, as he glances at his watch. He turns, opening the concealed door.  Ed joins him smiling.

“This might come in handy.”  Ed says, lifting the canister.

“Not if you’re dead.” Oswald jibes, pushing Ed through the door. Ed took one step and stopped.

"Wait, there's something else we need to do." Ed says, handing Oswald the gas canister. He then digs into the breast pocket of his blazer, pulling out a damp washcloth.

"What we need to do is get is in the panic room before they come back." Oswald says tersely, tugging on the arm of Ed's jacket. Ed ignores him, bending over and wiping the floor. Oswald looks down, slaps his forehead, and nods, as he sees the trail of bloody footsteps he left after stepping in Tetch's blood. Footsteps leading directly to the concealed door. "You're right, we don't want to leave a trail." Oswald says, feeling a tad embarrassed that he made such a rookie move. _Thank God I have Ed._ He thought, his chest swelling with gratitude.

"Well, maybe we do." Ed replies, jumping to his feet and running back into the kitchen. Oswald looks on gaping, as Ed runs over to Crane's body and steps into the pool of blood surrounding it. He then runs out the back door, leaving a trail of red footprints in his wake. Ed returns a moment later, carrying his shoes and carefully avoiding the bloody footprints, as he returns to the pantry. "Now, to the panic room!" He announces with a flourish, grabbing the canister and ducking through the concealed door with Oswald right behind him.  Ed and Oswald rush down the narrow corridor leading to the panic room.  Both men stop in their tracks, mouth’s dropping, as they see the panic room door standing wide open.  Oswald, feeling his heart jump to his throat, runs inside.

“Martin! Martin!”  He shouts, his eyes franticly darting across the medium-sized room.  Seeing nothing, he opens the bathroom door, but Martin’s not there.  “NOOOO!”  He screams, his entire body shaking in an anguished mix of pain, horror, and guilt.

 

Ten minutes earlier…

Jerome ran from the mansion, heading for the stolen GCPD transport vehicle they’d arrived in.  He hurried to the vehicle’s open back doors and saw Tetch, pants leg torn open, tending to the gunshot wound on his leg.

“Aaah, did Jervy get a boo boo?  Jerome cooed sweetly, his eyes hard as stone.  “Let Daddy look at it.”  He said jumping into the truck.  Jervis held out his leg.  Jerome grabbed it, his fingers cruelly digging into the wound.  Tetch cried out in pain.  Jerome laughed, as he released him. “When I send you on an errand, I expect you to complete the errand.  NOT TO TAKE A BREAK!”  Jerome snarled, knocking his hat off his head.  “We were getting our asses kicked in there.”

“I wouldn’t have been any use to either of you if I bled out on the kitchen floor.” Tetch replied apprehensively, reaching for his hat.   Jerome kicked the hat, laughing loudly, as it flew out the door.   Tetch shot him a dark look.  “Where’s Crane?”

“Like I said, we were getting our asses kicked in there.  He was shot—bad.”

“Is he alive?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.  His gas didn’t work.”

“What happened?  Crane said his gas would keep them running down their rabbit holes for at least thirty minutes.”

“Crane was wrong.  That damned Penguin, always full of surprises.  He shook the gas right off, like a cockroach on steroids.”  Jerome sneered through clenched teeth. 

"Curiouser and curiouser."  Tetch mumbled under his breath, as he looked over at the remaining gas canister, deep in thought. “Did Riddler shake it off, too?” Tetch asked.  

“I don’t think so, but it was kinda hard to tell through a barrage of machine gunfire.”  Jerome growled sarcastically.

“Penguin’s been gassed before.  Remember, it was a front-page story in the Gazette.”

“So, the gas is like chicken pox, it only gets you once.”  Jerome said rubbing his chin, as he stared off toward the mansion.

“Shouldn’t we be going?  If Penguin calls reinforcements, it'll be off with our heads.”  Tetch warned, running a single finger across his neck, like a knife.

“What fun would life be if we didn’t lose our heads once in awhile?”  Jerome cackled.  Jerome’s expression abruptly turned serious, as he pointed to the mansion.   “I just saw something moving in the bushes on the side of the house.”  Jerome crowed, pointing his gun in that direction.  “Let’s see if it bleeds"

 

 


	3. Happy Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tetch weaves his web, snaring a tiny treat!

Chapter 3

 

 

Earlier that evening…

 

Martin felt his chest grow tight, at the sound of the trapdoor closing above him. He hesitated for a moment, clutching the ladder's cool metal rung. The desire to climb back up to the safety of Uncle Penguin's arms pulled at him so strongly he felt his legs begin to wobble. He clung more tightly to the ladder, quietly chanting to himself. _Be brave. Be brave. Be Uncle Penguin's brave boy._ He made his body rigid, standing tall on the ladder's rung, a firm set to his little jaw. He climbed down to the bottom. The narrow corridor door before him was well lit. He knew exactly where to go. They had practiced this what felt like a zillion times. He walked forward, his feet feeling strangely heavy at each step. He reached the panic room door and pressed the numbers, his birthday, into the keypad. There was a small whoosh of air, as the door lock disengaged, and the door cracked open. He walked inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

 

He looked around the cheerful, brightly colored room. It reminded him of the playroom at the orphanage. He walked over to the TV, about to turn it on, when he heard footsteps overhead. He recognized the sound. _There's someone walking down the back staircase that leads to the kitchen._ He had to know what was going on. He went to the intercom and hit the button for the kitchen.

 

At first, he only heard footsteps. Then a voice rang out. A voice like none he had ever heard before. He immediately gave it a name, "Happy Man". Because that's exactly how the voice made him feel. It reminded him of splashing through puddles after the rain. Droplets of water flying into the air, bright like jewels when caught in the sunlight. It reminded him of riding his bicycle downhill. The wind against his face, blowing through his hair with cool, soft fingers. Zooming down the street, while his heart soared through the sky! The voice called out to him, tugging at his gut, ripe with the promise of laughter and fun times.

 

"Come out, come out, wherever you are; I know that you're here and I know you're not far." Happy man sang. His voice ringing like the bells on the ice cream cart that came by the orphanage from time to time—full of sweet, icy treats.

 

He walked back to the door and pressed the numbers in the keypad. He stepped out the room, moving toward the second corridor, which led to the kitchen. He stopped short, as the sound of gunfire erupted. The thunderous noise struck him, like a slap to the face.  Happy man was silent.  All thoughts of the man fled from his head, as he worried for his Uncles, Penguin and Ed. _I've got to help them! BUT HOW!?_   He asked himself, his heart fluttering in his chest, fast as a humming bird’s wing. _I need to think._ He closed his eyes and took a deep breathe. One of Uncle Penguin’s many stories came to mind _.  Always bring the right tools for the job._ A smile came to his lips. _I need a gun! A big one!_   He knew just the place to find it.

 


	4. You're Hysterical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome's determined not to leave empty-handed.

Chapter 4

Meanwhile back with Eddie and Ozzie…

"This is all my fault!" Oswald cried, madly pacing back and forth across the panic room, pounding his fists on his thighs. "I should have sent him away. Made sure he was safe. Everything I hold near, everything I hold dear – suffers because of me!" He wailed.

SMAACKK!

Oswald stood there dumbstruck, unable to believe Ed had just slapped him across the face.

“W—WHAT! Why did you do that?” Oswald sputtered, his hand rubbing his reddened cheek.

"You were hysterical, and we don't have time for that." Ed responded, his voice calm, yet firm. "We need to find Martin." Oswald scowled, angry that he could not dispute the taller man's logic. Ed walked over to the intercom system and noticed the light for kitchen was on. "Martin was listening in on the kitchen. He probably heard Tetch’s hypnotic command while we were singing. That's why he left the room." Oswald nodded, his pale face going a shade lighter.

“They must have him by now.” Oswald fretted. Seeing the distraught on his companion's face, stirred something in Ed and he reached over pulling the smaller man into his arms. Oswald melted into his embrace, the strong arms around him like a soothing balm on his troubled soul.

"Don't worry." Ed whispered softly. "Martin is probably still somewhere in the mansion. If Jerome had him, he'd probably be crowing it from the rooftops by now." Ed slowly lowered his arms, giving Oswald’s hand a quick squeeze, as he turned his attention to the intercom. Ed hit a series of buttons on the console, setting it to ‘broadcast all units’. He glanced back at Oswald, beaconing him closer with a crook of a finger. Oswald hurried to his side and faced the device.

"Martin, I'm here, where I thought I'd would find you. Come to me, HURRY!" Oswald franticly pleaded into the microphone. Ed placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder, as both men stood silent, listening intently for the sound of Martin’s approach.

 

Outside the mansion…

Tetch gingerly lowered himself from the truck, wincing as his wounded leg took his weight.  He picked up his hat, quickly scanning it for any damage. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he wiped small particles of debris from it. He put the hat on. Something clicked inside him. His stooped back straightened, his slumped shoulders squared.  _Much better._ He thought _. Alas, what is the Mat Hatter without his hat._ He walked over to Jerome.

Jerome was focused on a lush evergreen bush, at least fifty yards away.  Gun in hand and arm outstretched, his eyes alert for any sign of movement.  The bush twitched.

“Yesss!” Jerome hissed, as he pulled the trigger. There was a high-pitched shriek, like a baby’s cry. Jerome’s smile widened, then instantly fell away, as a scrawny cat darted from the bush, running off. “Cats.” Jerome sneered in disgust. He turned to Tetch. “I’m more of a dog person, y’know.” He cracked with a lopsided grin.

 

Inside, on the first floor, in the gun room…

Martin was breathing hard, it had taken every ounce of his strength to lift the M-2 anti-tank rifle to the open window. It was better now, most of the gun’s twenty-pound weight being supported by the darkened room’s window sill. Martin steadied the rest of the weight on his shoulder, as he peered through the sight at the man pointing a gun toward the side of the house.

There was a crack of static and Martin looked up, delighted to hear his Uncle Oswald call out to him from the intercom. He was about to drop the gun, when a shot was fired outside, closely followed by a scream. _Uncle Ed! He shot Uncle Ed!_   His mind cried in horror. His eye went back to the gun’s sight, aiming for the shooter, he fired. The deafening sound of the gun’s discharge shook the small room. _I MISSED!_   Martin realized, as a mid-sized tree to the right of the men exploded into flames, toppling near them.

Martin turned to grab more ammo and his eyes widened in terror, as he saw the over-stuffed chair he put in front of the door was consumed by flames, blocking his exit. It had been ignited by the M-2’s fierce backblast. With no other options and smoke filling the room, Martin jumped from the window. He hit the ground running, only one thought in his head. _I hafta save Uncle Ed!_

Jerome and Tetch dived for cover as the thunderous blast exploded from the front window.  The ear-splitting crack of a tree near them, followed almost instantly by a thick profusion of flaming branches cascading around them, caught both men by surprise. Fortunately, for the pair, the tree’s trunk had fallen a yard or two in behind them and only the lighter arterial branches had hit them.  Jerome recovered quickly, grinning as he belly-crawled from beneath the tree and leapt to his feet. Tetch extricated himself moments later, slapping at the flames on his burning pant leg. Jerome looked in the direction of the shot.  A face splitting grin burst across his face as he saw the boy jump from the window.

Martin ran wildly toward the far side of the mansion, where he assumed Ed lay bleeding from a gunshot. As he passed the mansion’s front entrance, Crane staggered into his path, yanking him by the shirt collar. Martin gasped at the sight of the terrifying Raggedy Man, madly thrashing in the man’s grip. The Scarecrow, weakened by blood loss, was no match for the frenzied, adrenaline fueled kid. Martin slipped from his clutches, running as fast as his little legs could go. He made it half a dozen more yards, before being thrown face-down to the ground, his breath cruelly knocked from his lungs, as Jerome tackled him from behind. Jerome stood up, lifting the boy, as he held him firmly by the waist. Martin was frantically kicking and squirming in Jerome’s arms, as Tetch trotted to their side.

“Now, now, my boy, it’s time to calm down; you need to sleep while we ride into town.” Martin heard Happy Man croon, his heavy eyes closing, as he slumped limply in Jerome’s arms. Jerome threw the sleeping boy over his shoulder and skipped off toward their vehicle, humming happily.


	5. Let's Make a Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege continues...

Chapter 5

Patience was never one of Oswald’s virtues.  He was a man of action and waiting passively was torture for him. It took less than ten seconds, after calling Martin on the intercom, for him to get antsy.

"I can't just sit here waiting. We need to go look—" Oswald stopped midsentence, his heart jumping, as he heard a gun go off.  "That sounded like it came from the front of the house."  He said, grabbing his rifle and running out the panic room door. Ed, equally alarmed, followed close behind. Oswald, breathing heavily, turned into a third corridor, which led to the front of the mansion.  They had only made it halfway down the corridor, when a second, much louder, boom resounded through the mansion. Both men’s bodies jerked at the sound, their hearts racing.

"That sounded like a cannon going off!"  Ed exclaimed, picking up his pace and sprinting past Oswald.  Oswald, cursing his bum leg, struggled to keep up with his long-limbed comrade. Images of a bloodied Martin and Ed flashed through his mind, an unwanted reminder of his earlier fear toxin-induced hallucination.  He attention was yanked from his painful memories by the sound of loud, shrill, buzzing beeps echoing through the building.

“That’s a smoke detector!” Oswald yelled excitedly, as Ed exited the corridor and dashed out the mansion’s front closet.  Once the closet door opened, the acrid smell of smoke was unmistakable.  Water began raining down, as the sprinkler system activated.  Paying no heed to the downpour, the dripping duo rushed to the mansion’s main entrance.

They reached the now door-less entryway and saw Jerome lifting Martin’s limp body into the back of the GCPD transport vehicle. Ed lifted his rifle, aiming for Jerome, who was leaning into the vehicle. Oswald slapped down the barrel of Ed’s gun.

“No, you might hit Martin!” He cried.

“Fine.” Ed growled. “I’ll get them.” He pivoted slightly and took aim at Tetch, who was struggling to reach the transport, while dragging a barely moving Crane by the waist. Ed fired, a sinister smile gracing his lips, as he heard Tetch cry out in pain and fall to the ground, Crane collapsing in a heap beside him.  Ed ran to the fallen duo, his gun still trained on the pair.  Tetch gasped, as Ed kicked his fallen hat out of reach and violently stomped on the paper mache monstrosity, reducing it to shreds.  Ed recalled how the hat-less Mad Hatter, they kidnapped during the Tetch virus outbreak, never once tried to hypnotize them.

Oswald, a far better shot than Ed, aimed at Jerome.  Jerome raised his arms over his head, a cylinder with a blinking red light in one hand.  Oswald hesitated, his rifle pointed at the crazy ginger.  Jerome took a few steps forward, his arms still raised.

“Well played, Oswald.”  Jerome drawled darkly, waving the hand that held the device. “But not good enough!  If I drop this little goodie, dear sweet little Martin goes KA-BOOM!”  He added with a comedic emphasis on the last word, followed by the unsettling roar of his maniacal laughter.

“What do you want?”  Oswald snarled, walking toward his former tormentor, keeping the gun aimed at his head.

“Aaah, that’s a better attitude.” Jerome commented, an unnerving sweetness oozing through his voice, as he lowered his hands to a non-threatening shoulder level. “Now we can have the gentlemanly discussion I came for.”

“Get to the point.” Oswald barked, moving within a yard of the other man.

“That’s close enough.” Jerome hissed, sidestepping a bit farther from both Penguin and the transport.  Oswald stopped walking, but didn’t lower his gun, which followed the ginger’s movements.

“That’s far enough.” Oswald hissed in response, pointing his rifle directly between Jerome’s eyes.  Jerome stopped moving.

“I need you to bring me Hugo Strange.”  Jerome declared flatly.

“He can’t do that.” Ed interjected, nonchalantly walking up behind Jerome and placing the barrel of his handgun against the redhead’s temple. Ed had used the fallen tree for cover, allowing him to sneak up on Jerome. But that was only phase one of his plan. “Penguin and I made a deal. I spring him from Arkham, he gets me Dr. Strange.” Ed lied, knowing Oswald would play along.

“You’ve come in on the tail end of this conversation.”  Jerome snickered.  “Kill me and the truck goes up in flames with the boy inside.”  Jerome grinned wickedly, as he shook the device in his hand.

“Like I care.” Ed said, knocking Jerome out cold, with the butt of his pistol.  Ed dived at a shocked Oswald, throwing him to the ground and shielding him from the explosion that erupted within yards from them.  Fortunately, for them, the reinforced walls of the transport contained most of the blast. “Don’t fret.” Ed whispered to Oswald struggling beneath him. “Martin’s hiding behind the downed tree.”  Ed jumped to his feet, extending a hand to his friend and helping get up. “Just get him to the panic room, before that joker comes to. Hurry!” Ed added, as he turned back to Jerome and pulled a length of rope from his pocket.

 

Thirty minutes later…

The flickering flames of the two, wall mounted gas light fixtures were not bright enough to fully pierce the gloom shrouding the 12x12 foot room. Their feeble glow, rather than spreading across the room, seemed to be absorbed by the room’s rough-hewn stone walls and hard-packed dirt floor.  The corners of room were cloaked in shadows, but two antique devices were specifically placed to be visible—An Iron Maiden, it’s door open to expose the rows of wicked looking spikes within, and a long narrow wooden rack, complete with manacles and chains attached to the limb dislocating wheels at each corner.

Valeska, Tetch, and Crane were sitting on the dirt floor, shackled to a stone wall by chains with iron cuffs attached to their wrists and ankles. Though what Crane was doing could hardly be called sitting.  He was slumped over, his chin on his chest, as he limply dangled from the restraining chains affixed high on the wall behind him.

Although Ed never entered Oswald’s recently constructed ‘interrogation room’ before today, he recognized it immediately.  He’d drawn up detailed plans for the room and its artifacts long ago, while he was the Mayor’s Chief of Staff.  Seeing it for the first time was an emotional experience on multiple levels. Tears of joy had sprung to his eyes as he saw his dream made real, but he was more deeply touched that Oswald had completed the room to his exacting specifications, despite all the trauma their relationship had endured. He knew the elaborate room must have been completed before their recent reconciliation, but the attention to detail, the room encompassed, felt like a testament to Oswald’s unwavering love for him. It was the greatest gift he’d ever received, and he just couldn’t stop smiling.  

Oswald had started construction on the room shortly after Ed was frozen.  At the time, he’d told himself he was doing it merely because it was a brilliant idea.  The room, designed to replicate a Medieval torture chamber, elicited a psychologically debilitating distress, perfectly suited to the interrogation process.  But as he witnessed Ed’s unbridled joy and exhilaration, he finally realized the real reason he’d done it—his hope to one day see that look on Ed’s face.   

Jerome looked up at the two smiling men standing in front of him.  Jerome’s sly smile was equally wide. Unlike Tetch, who sat trembling in fear beside him, Jerome was well acquainted with pain and adversity.  They’d been his steadfast companions from an early age. He’d also learned early, that begging and crying only earned him more abuse. His childhood keepers (he still couldn’t bear to think them family) had fed off his anguish, celebrated his screams of pain. But Jerome was a survivor and survivors adapt. He learned to laugh at pain, to enjoy both giving and receiving it. Born into a world where nothing made sense; chaos became like an old friend, a familiar companion he longed to keep at his side.

“Tetch, it looks like you bet on the wrong horse in this race.”  Oswald said cruelly, as he cleaned his fingernails with a jagged, rusty dagger.  Tetch blanched at his tone, but then spoke up.

“I gave Jerome my word. If he helped me escape that pit of snakes, I would stand by his side. Had you extended a like hand to me _when you escaped_ , you’d have my fealty now.” He snapped heatedly.

“You have a point.”  Oswald casually conceded.  “But it doesn’t negate the fact that you invaded my home and tried to kill me.”

“Stop being a drama queen Oswald.”  Jerome mockingly interjected. “No one tried to kill you.”

“You threatened Martin!” Oswald raged.

“Although I find your fondness for young boys _endearing_ ,” He responded sarcastically. “you should know better than to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“Perhaps, I should be wearing your heart on my sleeve.” Oswald seethed, giving Jerome’s chest a poke with the tip of his dagger, drawing a small pinprick of blood.  Ed, annoyed by the pointless banter and counter-productive direction it appeared to be headed, stepped in between the two men, addressing Jerome.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out the only reason you’re still alive is the same reason you didn’t try to kill us—there’s something we want from you.”  Ed studied Jerome’s face. He didn’t trust the crazy ginger, but he had put together a formidable team and that could prove useful.

“About time someone got to the point.” Jerome sighed with feigned weariness. Ed ignored his tone and continued.

“Dr. Strange will be working for me, but maybe I can make him available for your project. For a price, of course. Why do you need him?”

“Well, I was hoping he could look at this weird hole on my ass. Shit keeps coming out of it. I think I might have cancer” Jerome said, his eyes wide, and voice trembling with phony fear. He stared in mock terror at Ed for a moment, then began cackling wildly. Ed, a faint smile on his lips, leaned closer to Jerome, talking softly in his ear.

“I think your old buddy, Dwight Pollard, might not have gotten all the kinks out of his raise the dead machine and you need Strange to get it right.”  Ed said, taking a not so wild guess, based on Jerome’s previous answer.  He knew hit gold, when the smile dropped from Jerome’s face. Ed looked over at Oswald and winked.

“Maybe you’re smarter than you look, riddle boy.”  Jerome jibed, smiling. His eyes burning with unconcealed malice.  Ed stood up, folding his arms

“Okay, I’ve got a deal for you. Take your team and find Barbara Kean. Take down the security force she’s assembled and bring her to me. Then I’ll get you Strange. Deal?”

“Deal.” Jerome growled.

“Players make it, killers take it, and drinkers throw it back. What am I?" Ed inquired, sweetly.

“I thought we had a deal. Why are you still torturing us?” Jerome cracked snidely, rolling his eyes.  Ed bent over, near Jerome’s ear.

“You give up?” Ed asked, whipping a needle from his sleeve and sticking it into the ginger’s neck. “A shot!” Ed exclaimed, depressing the needle’s plunger. While Tetch looked over at Jerome in surprise, Oswald stuck a needle in his throat, too. Both men slumped over a few moments later.

“What about him?” Oswald said gesturing toward an unconscious Crane. Ed shrugged and walked over to Crane, digging beneath his rags to find skin and giving him a shot.

“Better safe than sorry.” He said, pulling out the needle.

A car horn beeped from outside the mansion.

“Well, it sounds like their ride is here.” Oswald said, smiling smugly.

 

     

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are the air that I breathe. Please, don't let me asphyxiate!

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments will be richly appreciated!


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